The Case of the Murder at Madhouse Manor
by The Lord Of The Words
Summary: A Holmes parody. Six years after the original, I decided to write this one as a follow up. New humor, old humor, a new case, and of course, my two funny characters back to solve another bizarre mystery. How neat! If you liked the first, than take a look.
1. The Case of the Murder at Madhouse Manor

The Case of the Murder at Madhouse Manor

"Damn it Mario, I told you NO anchovies on my pizza!" I yelled into the phone, whapping my hand on the countertop, "Why the hell am I paying you fifteen bucks for you to screw up my order?"

"Well," Mario answered carefully, "I really don't know. What do you want me to do? Fire all my workers and hire new ones?"

"Yes!" I bellowed, "But that's that last time I order from your crummy food stand bucko!" I slammed the receiver down with great force, cracking like a rifle shot." _Man,_ thought I, _that's the third time this week._ As I was in the midst of this personal thinking, I heard rapid knocks at my door. I also heard a great deal of sneezing from the other side, a clear indication as to who it was. It was my friend and assistant, Dr. Lotson, who was a professional something or other. He was clearly excited about something. "Condo, you won't believe it, I have fantastic news! You have a new case to work on! Someone was murdered on the other side of the world in London." To which, I made my reply in a casual and uninterested tone, "Let Holmes handle it, since he's there anyway."

"Oh. Well, in other news then, some one was kidnapped and murdered right down the street," Lotson stated, in a bored sort of fashion, picking his teeth. At this, I suddenly leapt out of my recliner, (Which I bought at Rooms-To-Go for a terrific price I may add) and shouted, "By Gad…" But the sound of my office door opening stopped me dead. In walked the city inspector, in his usual cliché overcoat and hat.

"Excuse me Mr. Condo, but I…" I cut him off with a growl; "Do not _ever_ interrupt me while I'm saying BY GAD SIR!"

"I'm sorry Mr. Condo, I'll let you finish."

"Thank you inspector. Now then, where was I? Oh yes…" Once more, I stood up straight, lifted a fist to the ceiling, and thundered, "BY GAD SIR, we must take action! Call the army reserves; summon that National Guard, this treachery must be stopped!"

Lotson responded matter-of-factly, "All the reserves are on vacation."

At this, I began to stride across the floor, raving and letting a bit of drool fall. "Damn the creator! It looks like we will have to do this the old fashion way. With the magnifying glasses, and the footprints, and the hey hey hey it hurts me!"

As I spoke, I strolled over to a picture of my father scalding the wide-eyed king with boiling hot tea. By pulling ever so hard, I pulled the portrait down while be showered in plaster and dust. Behind which was a small wall safe, and after imputing the one digit number combination, yanked it open. As I past Lotson, and cried, "Lotson, we need the suitcase from the safe, behind the modem, in front of the china, and to the left of the autographed soccer ball. Fetch it will you?"

While Lotson busied himself with this, I went over to talk with the inspector. "Well inspector, what's the new for this crime?"

"A few hours ago, we received a call from someone calling himself Shadowy Figure. He said that he murdered the post office supervisor for lack of service, and kidnapped a beautiful painting of his daughter, holding it for ransom. Besides that, we found some things the murderer left behind, and we need your expert observation."

"Yes of course. Lotson, have you retrieved the suitcase behind the modem, in front of the china, and to the left of the autographed soccer ball?"

"Why yes, I have it in my hand."

"Very good. Inspector, where did this murder occur?" When he answered, I saw fear in his eyes. "Well…in his house. Duh."

"Watch it bud," I growled through clenched teeth, "else you'll be picking up your teeth with a pair of tweezers. Lotson, bring the me the suitcase from behind the modem, in front of the china, and to the left of the autographed soccer ball!" When I got my suitcase, I proceeded to take out a few important items such: my rubber chicken, fake floppy footprints, a smoke bomb pipe, my yo-yo, a magnifying glass, a semi-automatic silenced M-4 assault rifle, a deck of Tarot cards, and a watch with a built in detonation device to ignite powerful explosives, ready to blast my office into orbit at a moments notice.

After mysteriously stuffing all of this stuff into my pockets and jacket without one little crease to speak of, the three of us proceeded to the crime scene where it all happened. Upon our arrival, we found the victim, William James Clifford the VII, lying on the floor face down, right arm under him, and his right leg twisted sideways. As I rolled over the body, I saw his eyes were wide open. His wife wasn't that upset about the tragic death of her husband.

"I'm surprised he lived this long without being knocked out a couple of times, the damn fool. That bastard was gonna get it one of these days, I just knew it."

I was astounded, quite frankly, at her coolness about this somewhat grisly subject. Most wives would be crying their eyes out and hugging their children. But no, this was not the case. I stared about the room, looking for clues that no ordinary eyes could see. Seeing nothing, I studied the body and looked for the cause of death. Once more, seeing nothing, and feeling rather puzzled to say the least, I checked his neck, for a red mark or some type of rash around his flabby neck. Nothing, all I saw was a fat corpse. This gave me a lot of information about his death. No wounds meant he was neither stabbed nor shot in anyway. Secondly, no rash about the neck area meant that he hadn't been strangled or throttled to death. Having discovered this, I cleared my throat and addressed the people in the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Padlock Condo, mystery solver extraordinaire, and I have an announcement for everyone here." I went on to explain my observations carefully, using little words so that they might understand it.

"Smashing Condo," cried the inspector, "so does that mean you know who did it?"

"Don't be an ass; of course I don't know who did it yet! What am I Sherlock Holmes? I have no idea who did this foul deed, but make no mistake; I will find out who is responsible and make sure he pays for this hideous crime! Come hell or high water!" After this speech, I heard a loud applause from the house as everyone cheered for myself. I made my way over to the inspector, and asked him, "You said the murderer left some items behind, did you not?"

"Why yes, they are right on that table in front of you." I pulled out my magnifying glass and studied the three objects left behind by the killer. A cork grease box, a thermometer, and a rabbit's foot." After studying them, I called over Lotson. "My dear Lotson, do have any idea what these clues mean?"

"Why no Condo. What do they mean?"

"They mean absolutely nothing, something that we shouldn't care anything about. Now I'd like to question the wife." I strode over to said wife, who was smoking a huge smoldering cigar, with ash falling off the tip, and getting on the living room rug. She seemed to have strayed away from the body, and was just lingering near the door. "Excuse me madam, may I ask you a few questions about the murder?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Okay, let's see. What were you and your husband doing in the last twenty four hours?" She shuffled into the kitchen, and poured brandy and whiskey into a quart glass, and drank it down in one colossal swig.

"Well nothing, until he came home and took me and the kids to Saladbar Steakhouse. You know, that place that serves nothing but slop? And Will asked for the spiciest thing on the menus, and he chugged fifteen Maddog beers. Afterwards, on the way home, he skidded twice, clipped a car, and was pulled over for speeding. At home, instead of collapsing on the couch, so that it squeaked like a rusty gate hinge, he collapsed on the floor, with puffy red eyes, purple lips, and a blue face. After gurgling a couple of times like a drowned horse, he turned over on his stomach and died."

After interrogating Mrs. Clifford, I spoke to both the inspector and Lotson. "Well Condo," Lotson questioned, "what did you find out from the woman?"

"Well my dear Lotson, the family apparently went out to eat at Saladbar Steakhouse, and after gorging themselves, Will collapsed home with clear signs of drunkenness. But something doesn't add up. Inspector, whenever you get ripped off your ass, do you ever get purple lips or a blue face?" He thought back on this. "I don't believe so. Those are not the normal signs."

"Just as I thought, Lotson. If what I am thinking is what I am thinking, then I know how Mr. Clifford died." Lotson stared at me with awe and wonder.

"Really, already? Sherlock is not even half as good as that! What is this theory that I'm dying to hear! Out with it Condo!" I pulled out of my jacket my deck of Tarot cards, placing them on a coffee table, and arranged the cards while speaking.

"Quite simple Lotson, if you put all the clues together correctly. First we know are victim was not cut nor strangled in any way right? Right. Second, Mr. Clifford had purple lips and a blue face, and as we have determined, is not a telltale sign of alcoholism. And lastly, he was at a restaurant for two and a half hours, which is more than enough time for a sinister operation to be placed into action. So, by simple logic, Mr. Clifford consumed nano toxins, in turn corrupting his digestive system and caused a complete loss of body power, in which case caused him to collapse due to a lack of corrdination." My two companions were staring at me, instead of at the fortune cards, which were positioned in a skull and crossbones on a bottle, being poured into a drink, and then said drink being consumed and digested. At last, the inspector spoke.

"Could you…um…say that again Condo. Perhaps in English please?" Annoyed immensely by his thick head, I roared, "What it means you asshole, is that the son of a bitch was poisoned and collapsed on the floor in that disgusting heap!" After this outburst, I slipped back into the kitchen, and witnessed Mrs. Clifford drink an entire milk carton labeled Gordon's Gin in one breath. It made me feel quite ill to see all that liquor being drunk in such large quantities. _This family had serious drinking problems,_ I thought to myself. "Excuse me again, but I have one more question I need to ask you. What was the name of your server at the restaurant?" I hoped she could answer before she passed out or simply keel over from drinking that much alcohol. At last, she spoke. "His name was Cody Wipskin, my old college sweetheart." At with those famous last words, she crashed to the floor, snoring like a pig. _Ah,_ said I to myself, _the plot does indeed thicken. Now we have a former lover in the equation. _

I slowly walked out the door, and took the inspector and Lotson with me, out to my car and sped off. "Where are we off to now Condo?" asked my partner Lotson. While holding the steering wheel in one hand, I picked up my cell phone, and told him, "You will see my dear Lotson, you will see." Quickly dialing a number, I told the voice that answered, "Hello Saladbar Steakhouse? Can I reserve a table for three? Mr. Padlock Condo's the name. And could you see to it that Cody Wipskin is our waiter? Thank you." My passengers knew what I was up to, and were silent up to the point when they saw the greasy, slimy table at the restaurant.

"No way," yelled the inspector, struggling, "I will not sit there, not no way, not no how!" Lotson and I yanked him into a chair, and sat down just as our server approached to order our drinks. As I had requested, he was Cody Wipskin. He was a tall thin man, with muscles and eyes either really dark brown or black, as I couldn't see his pupils.

I leaned out and whispered to Lotson, "What woman said that this guy was her college sweetheart. Then why the hell did she go with that fat bastard Clifford?" Before Lotson could answer, Cody started to speak, and at once made that clear.

"I see you're whispering. Is it about me? I'll bet it is. I know I'm really good looking, like you know, I am good looking, and like, I mean, I looks so hot all the time, that I want to ask myself out on a date like you know, I look like, that good. Like." Now, probably like everyone else, I was getting really tired of hearing that, so I stood and told him. "Look…shut up! Alright? Shut it! Either take our order, or beat it, and stop looking at yourself and get back to work!" That did precisely what it was meant to, and he did indeed shut up, and throughout the whole night, he merely spoke at how our food was and how everything was doing. As we were rising to leave, I asked him, "Does the name William James Clifford mean anything to you?" At the sound of this name, he dropped the dishes he was carrying, and dashed off to the bathroom. My colleagues and I followed him, and found him coughing into a sink, and sweating all over.

He turned to me, and snarled, "Don't ever mention the name of my arch-nemesis around me. One day, I will get him for stealing my girl and…"

"Would that girl," I interrupted, "by any chance be Ms. Samantha Binds Clifford?"

"Yeah, that's the girl I fell in love with, until she marred that guy Williams, and I swore I would get him if it was the last thing I ever did!" I cleared my throat, stepping forward, and spoke to the pale faced young man. "Well, here's some shocking new for you. William Clifford was murdered by poison at this very restaurant, and to top it off, you were their waiter, and a former flame with the wife of the victim, bearing a grudge, who would get back at him anyway that you could. If I didn't know any better, I would say that YOU murdered William James Clifford the VII!" At the sound of this, he broke down and started sobbing on the vile bathroom floor.

"Okay I admit it! I'll tell you everything. I helped in part of the murder, but I didn't know it would kill him. I swear!" As he said this, I walked over to the quivering mass on the floor, and asked, "You mean, YOU didn't kill William, but you know who did?"

"Yes, I know," he sniffed, "You see, he made a reservation and I was whispering to myself at how I could get back at him, when one of the cooks heard me, and asked me whom I was speaking about. I said William Clifford. He then asked why, and I answered, he stole my girlfriend. He told me he had a way for me to get Samantha back, and he said he would get revenge for slow service at the post office, so naturally…I agreed."

Interrupting him, I asked Cody, "So you agreed you would help kill him? So, you did take part in the murder, so you will be prosecuted as the same as the real mastermind!"

"No, no! He said he would load his food with light poison, which would embarrass him, so his wife would divorce him, and I could get her back. My part was to drug him by pouring mild toxins into his beer that would cause his eyes to blur, and so he couldn't see what he was eating or doing. So, after drugging him, he placed the poison sprinkles on his food, and I served it to him. He promised me it would daze him, but not kill him. Honest!"

"Well Lotson," said I, "that's all I need to know. Who was this cook-friend of yours, who promised you William would not die?"

"He never told me his name, but he was tall, with dark hair, thick glasses, a broad curly mustache, and scars all over his body. After placing the poison in his food, he walked out to his car, and told me to meet him, to discuss how to get my Sammy back. That's it, I swear!"

After taking this in, I walked away a few paces, and was quite for a spell. Slowly turning, I said, "Well my dear Lotson, this is very interesting, very interesting indeed. Now, Mr. Wipskin, we'll be back for you, so don't go anywhere." The cowering waiter climbed to his feet, wiping his tears and snot onto the sleeve of his already incredibly dirty shirt sleeve. I strode out, with Lotson and the Inspector at my heels. Then the three of us left, and I don't think we even paid. We walked to the car silently, until I broke the silence. "With all do respect Inspector, I would like to go back to my condo and get some rest, while gathering thoughts about this evening. Do you agree, my dear Lotson?"

"A superb idea Condo. I am so weary, that I will simply collapse with exhaustion." The inspector seemed to hesitate, but replied, "I understand. I too am weary. I guess I will see you tomorrow." But we were already in the car and down the road, because the restaurant owners came charging out, saying we had skipped out and had to pay the penalty. "Well," Lotson mused with a tone of dignity, "All good things come to an end, don't they Condo?" To which I made my reply. "Who the hell cares Lotson? Who the hell cares?"  
Back at my condo, we sat down to think. "Lotson, this is a real mind-boggling situation. I think our best course of action would be to review the facts. What do you say old chum?"

"Of course Condo, I'd be very much obliged. Ahem. First Will Clifford was poisoned at Saladbar Steakhouse by a mysterious man, his wife is a chronic alcoholic, the sky is blue, butterflies are very pretty, and…"

"Lotson," I yelled, "Let's stick to the fact of the murder, what do you say?"

"Smashing idea Condo. Okay, let's do this. Second, Cody Wipskin is the only one who knows where this guy lives, That's about all that I know, because I am a mere inferior to your greatness. Could you enlighten me?"

"Of course Lotson. That's all there is. Now, why don't we get some rest? My mind is as tangled as a knot the size of a volleyball." Yawning, I laid down on my bed, and tried to piece it all together, and solve this goddamn blundering mystery. "My dear Lotson, I've just had a thought."

"Really Condo? Do tell."

"Well, when the inspector came by this evening, he told us that the station got a call from someone identifying themselves as "Shadowy Figure". Remember? Now, correct me if I am wrong, but can't the station trace the lines, and find out where the call was made from, what with the circuitry in the building? So, if we find the place where the guy's call was traced, then we find the murderer. How's that Lotson, pretty good huh?" My partner stared at me as if he was in the grips of an angelic vision. "Absolutely SMASHING Condo! Astounding! Brilliant! Genius!"

"Thank you, my dear Lotson. Now we must stop all this lounging about and catch this fiend!" I jumped out of bed, and ran to the closet, and grabbed my stuff, and hopping about to get my shoes on. "Hurry up Lotson, we must not dawdle. A case awaits!"

"But Condo, it's ten-thirty-three, and besides, no one will be at the station."

"Come Lotson, of course they'll be there. Now we must hurry and dash to the station."

"But…"

"No time for that now Lotson!"  
"But…"  
"No time for that either! Let's get a move on!" We bolted to the Saturn, and drove off to the station to solve a mystery. Upon our arrival, we met the inspector, who looked both tired, and beaten to a pulp, with an expression that was far from cheerful.

"Well, look who comes walking in the door but Rip'em Off Condo. What do you want now? I thought you went home to your bed."

"Why yes, we both went home, and Condo here made an interesting connection. You people got a call from Shadowy Figure correct? Well, why can't you trace where that call came from?"

"Of course," the inspector cried, slapping his face, "Why didn't we think of that? And sorry for the yelling. I guess I would have done the same thing too. Now then," he then turned to an officer next to him, and instructed, "Go get Lenny, and look sharp about it!" The officer then dashed down the hall, screaming "LENNY!" at the top of his voice, when another man (supposedly Lenny) was standing beside us and awaiting orders from the inspector.

"Ah Lenny my boy, there you are. Go trace the Shadowy Figure call, and make it snappy!" While he was gone, we talked amongst ourselves, and I pulled out my magnifying glass and kneeled down.

"Now," Lotson was explaining, "We will find out where this guy is, and when we do, you will send every officer you have there to capture this man."

"But what if there is more than one there," the inspector questioned, "Which one is the real murderer?"

"Not to worry inspector, as I'm sure Condo remembers the description, don't you Condo? Condo, what on earth are you doing?"

"I'm roasting ants with the glass. It's fun. Oh yes, the description. Okay, he had dark hair, thick glasses, a broad curly mustache, and scars all over his body. A grisly picture, if I do say so myself."

"Good. So we have a description, and soon a destination. Now all we have to do is sit tight and wait." After waiting a few seconds, Lenny returned, and approached us with a puzzled expression, and sat down.

"Well, I traced the call, and found out the house in which it was sent from. But what is puzzling about it is the house has been abandoned for about ten years, and I thought the power had been disabled for the past fourteen years, and there were no communications going in or out."

"This is very interesting. But tell us the goddamn house it was transmitted from."

"Yes Mr. Condo, of course. The only haunted house around. The Madhouse Manor. Where that crazy guy butchered anyone who walked in."

"Ah yes, I remember now. Inspector, get over there and check it out!"

"But Mr. Condo," the inspector whined, "we just ordered a pizza, and it should be here any minute."

"Listen up buddy boy," I told him, "You had dinner less than an hour ago, and I will be damned if I let you stuff any more garbage into your fat craw. Now move it!" The inspector meekly order his men to go to the house, and arrest and people there, and kill if any resistance was mounted. There was a bunch of people running around, yelling and jumping into cars and roaring off.

"My dear Lotson, it is time to act rationally, and go to the Madhouse Manor, and investigate ourselves."

"Smashing idea Condo, and we could catch the criminal ourselves. Let's go!" With that, we dashed outside, jumped into our car, and roared out of the parking lot, and drove less than half a minute to the manor.

"Well now Lotson, the cops are swarming the building like bees on flowers. Now, if we can get away from those bastards, we could do this mystery right. Follow me Lotson." We walked around the huge house, found an opening, and went creeping inside. The halls were close together, and incredibly long, a claustrophobics nightmare, in other words.

"My dear Lotson, I do not wish to alarm you, but there is someone following us."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Positive. Pull out any weapon you've got, and prepare to engage in combat." Lotson picked up a wooden rod, while I secured an iron one. We could hear him walking closer. But I could hear many pairs of feet. I could tell we were outnumbered. This was going to be bad. When they were in the same room, Lotson and I jumped out and screamed, "AHHHHH!"

"Jesus Christ, you scared the bloody hell out of me, you nosy assholes! How did you track us rather than the criminals?" As you might have guessed, it was the police officers who had followed us.

"Well, we saw footprints on the floorboards, and like T.V., we followed them."

"Damn it, my pocket must have broken, and my fake floppy footprints fell out in a trail. Well, good day gentlemen. Actually, good night, and good hunting." After the force left, Lotson and I decided to look in the basement for more clues. But as we got there, we saw a terrifying sight…Nothing. The basement was totally dark except for two candles. We crept around looking into the semi-blackness but saw nothing. We were leaving, and I stopped to catch my breath, and spoke. "My dear Lotson, this is all wrong. The murderer might have called the station from here, but do you think he would be stupid enough to just sit here and wait to get caught while he could escape?"

"But Condo, what is that light over there which is not being generated by the candles?"

"Good heavens Lotson, it is light! Quick Lotson, give me some more light here!" Quick as a flash, we turned on a flashlight, and looked at the alleged light which seemed to be coming from behind a bookcase.

"Condo, this looks like a secret door. If it is, how do we open it?"

"Wait Lotson, I know. Remember the movies? The secret door was activated by pulling out a candle!"  
"But Condo, that was a movie, and this is reality. It wouldn't work!"

"We shall see my dear Lotson, we shall see." Whereupon, I pulled out the candle closest to me, and by some weird coincidence, the lifted up ever so nicely, revealing a hidden room. And inside this room, was a figure that looked shadowy.

"Excuse me, Mr. Shadowy Figure, but I am mystery solver, clue-finder, and expert chess player, Mr. Padlock Condo! And you are under arrest for the murder of William James Clifford the VII!" After this speech, the figure that was shadowy turned around. His description matched the one Cody had given us a few hours ago to the letter.

"Ah, Mr. Condo, so nice of you to drop by, before you had to die!"

"Hah ha, my friend! You shall find that it is you shall die, either by my hands of your useless resistance, or by the authorities. But there must be another reason to your actions that Cody didn't tell us about. Tell me now!"

"Very well. Even though I've hated the post office management, my real motive was to lure out, and kill the famous mystery solver, Mr. Padlock Condo. And as you can see, I am successful in step one. And now, it's is time for you to meet your end!" And with that, he lunged at me with a sword, and attempted to slice my head off. Even though I ducked, the sword hit the bookcase. You see, Lotson was gone, having left to alert the police of our discovery. I quickly pulled out my own weapon…my rubber chicken. This may have seemed foolish, but I knew exactly what I was doing.

The maniac began swinging that sword again, but I ducked, rolled under his legs, and I wrapped my chicken around his neck, and started strangling him. He yelled out dirty words, and tried to jab me and slice my head in two. Finally, he pulled free, and was so red in the face; a tomato was colorless compared to him. He pulled back to strike again, but I pulled out my next weapon…my yo-yo. He laughed, and jabbed at me, but I blocked it with the "Around the world" technique. Then, quick as a flash, I made a "Baby in a cradle", and as he thrusted the blade at me again, I jumped to the side, so that his sword went into the center of the string, and I pulled the sword right out of his hands, which clattered to the side. Then, he rushed me, but I preformed my "Forward throw" maneuver, to crack him squarely in the jaw. I repeated this again, until he caught hold of my projectile, and tore it off my finger, rushing me once more.

Before he took his third step, he gurgled in surprise. The reason he gurgled, was his mouth was full of a smoke bomb from my smoke bomb pipe. I jumped into the cloud of smoke, and swung my fists until I hit him, and didn't stop until Lotson and the boys and girls in blueish green came to pull me off the bruised, bloodied, and part way unconscious man. They brought him upstairs, and into the streetlight, to get a good look at him. "E Gad Lotson, so you know who he is?"

"Why no Condo. Who is he?"

"I have no idea in hell as to who this nutbar is." We all looked at him. He glared up at us, with a bruised cheek and a black eye. "I should have known not to attempt to kill the most talented, and sophisticated mystery solver since the great Sherlock Holmes." And with that, he was loaded onto a truck, and it went down the road, and back to the station.

"By gad Condo, however did you manage to track down the murderer, beat the living crap out of him without so much as a scratch, and solve the mystery all in one night?"

"Well my dear Lotson, the world is a strange place, but as a mystery solver, we do the best we can, as fast as we can. In other words, do a half-assed job, sometimes, and do a good job the next time."

"Oh, you mean like the bank employee who stole candy from a store, you did a half assed job then? And on the case of the insane crazy guy that looted the bank employee's house, you did a skilled job?"

"Yes Lotson, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to go talk to the man who is at the station." We climbed into our car and sped away. We arrived at the station, walked in, and went to the cell of our new friend. "Tell me friend. Why?"

"The main reason is my family and friends, were all in crime. Caught by you, and sentenced to death at the smallest of offence, like stealing a candy bar or whatever. Just be warned that there are others out there who will do what I could not." We slowly walked out of the station, before I called back, "Your families offences may have been small, but in this town, nobody murderers without paying the price!" We strolled out, and Lotson congratulated me.

"Well put old chum! Now what do you say we go home to our beds and push up a long line of Z's?"

"I think my dear Lotson, that is a fine idea." We got home, and slowly trudged up the stairs, put my key in the lock, turned it, and filed inside. The dozens of ugly brutish men that greeted us, sneered at us in the most unpleasant way possible. "Well Mr. Condo, it's about time. With our friend in jail, we will kill you ourselves, and your little friend behind you." Whereupon, he nodded his head a couple of times, and the men, (obviously getting in through the window) pulled out guns and knives and started towards us. My reaction was simple.

I pulled out my semi-automatic silenced M-4 assault rifle, and in less than seven seconds, they all lay dead at my feet. "Jesus Condo, you yourself have just committed murder!"

"The hell with that." We threw the bodies out the window, cleaned the floor, and climbed into bed. For the first five minutes, it was silent, and we heard nothing. Not even a cricket.

"Hey Condo?"

"Yes my dear Lotson?" I rolled onto my side, and I heard to sounds. The first was a quiet beep, and the second was Lotson saying. "I find it astounding that during this adventure, you used all of your equipment, except your watch that will launch our office into space." I chose not to respond to that, and kept quite when I heard the rockets under the floor warm up, and start firing for all their worth. There in the not so quite night, I said, "Lotson, we have a problem."


	2. The Case of the Remarkable Walking Dead

The Case of the Remarkable Walking Dead Guy

"Lotson," I called, putting down my silver trumpet, after a rousing jam session with myself, "Why do just sit there, when I play all by my lonesome? Come and join me!" My assistant and friend, one Dr. Lotson, uncovered his ears, and pulled several chunks of cotton from them.

"I'd love to old chap, but I'm afraid that I'm not quite as musically oriented as you."

"Tut tut, my dear Lotson, I'm sure you've got a hidden talent for music! We just have to find it, that's all. Now let's see, hmm…" In my mind, I was trying to pick the most perfect of instruments for my counterpart to play. "Perhaps a banjo? No, your teeth are _far_ too straight for that. But there is still hope…Lotson, were you by any chance your nephews son, your uncle's brother, your mothers wife, or your sisters fiancé? If so, a banjo would be perfect for you."

"I can't say that I was Condo, and I cringe at the possibility of those other relations." I tapped my foot, thinking deeply again. Suddenly, a blast of music filled my head. "Great Scott Lotson, I just came up with a dynamite new piece! I must play it at once, lest I forget it!" With that, I brought my trumpet to my lips, and began to blow, blasting notes and melodies. As I did so, though I could not hear it, there was a ring of the bell, to which Lotson answered. Outside was the inspector, in his all purpose, summer or winter, rain or shine, coat and hat.

"Good Lord Lotson, you look terrible? What's the matter?" My partner leaned out, trembling somewhat, and whispered in a wavering voice, _"He's been playing for seven hours!"_

"My god, what a brave man you are!" I lowered my trumpet, frankly a bit put out. "Come now, can't anyone around here appreciate a bit of good music? Anyways, inspector! Good to see you! What brings you by our office on this fine day? A bit early to get hammered isn't it?"

"No, not really, but I've come to ask for your help. We have a case on our hands and quite frankly…we're all a bit baffled by it. The clues don't add up, there is _so_ much evidence, and well…I'm pretty tired right now. So, we thought we could call for the great Padlock Condo, and see if he could lend us a hand. What do'ya say Condo? Can you take a look?" I meanwhile was scratching my chin, glancing this way and that.

With a shout, and tossing my hands into the air, sending my trumpet flying and crashing out the window, I thundered, "BY GAD SIR! A new case you say? Of course, we'd love to take a look, wouldn't we Lotson?"

"Oh, most definitely Condo, it sounds positively smashing!"

"Alright, that settles it! But first, I have things to gather!" I floated across the room, pulling up our expensive Persian rug (Irreplaceable, what with there not being a Persia anymore), toppling a small wooden pedestal, which had a paper mache pallet of Sir Arthur Butterbottom sitting atop of it, and uncovered the flawless hardwood floor underneath. "Now," said I, "For the arduous task of locating the one and only one floorboard that is loose, under which, I have cleverly hidden my most valuable crime-solving equipment. Lotson, do you recall which one it was?"

"I'm afraid not Condo, they all look quite the same to me."

"Of course. Inspector, could you be a chap and fetch that sledgehammer standing next to you?" The inspector looked round, saw the twenty pound hammer, picked it up, and tossed it to me. I caught it, but just barely. "Careful with that, you dumb schmuck! That thing can cause some serious damage to my wood floor, you know!" With that, I began pounding the flooring, bashing the planks into splinters, ripping them up, and making a largish hole. "Ah, here it is!" I snatched up the small leather bag, similar to the kind old fashion doctors carry, hopped out of the hole, and dusted myself off.

"Well, I suppose that wasn't _too_ arduous. Now then, let me see," I plopped the bag down on the desk, opened it, and carefully picked out my assortment of necessary paraphernalia. My magnifying glass, a bag of marbles, a fat tipped black marker, a rock, a Colt Commando XM177 with laser site, Dungeons & Dragons dice, some WD-40, and my watch, now retrofitted to send out a signal that would summon a fleet of one hundred and fifty-four H.I.N.D. helicopters for a massive air-to-ground bombardment. "Very good, this will be all that I will need. Now, come Lotson, Inspector! We have a case that needs to be solved. Lead on!"

And lead he did. We all filed downstairs, to the inspector's awaiting car, a Lexus that had obviously seen better days. "So," I asked, "Exactly what _is _this case you were going on about? Thievery? Murder? Crime ring? Drug ring? Circus ring? Come on, out with it man!"

"Well actually, nothing quite as serious as that lot. Vandalism as a matter of fact." I scratched my chin, contemplating the significance.

"I see, I see. Come Lotson," and I turned about, starting back inside. "Mr. Condo," a flustered inspector called after me, "Where in the world are you going?"

"Inspector, when you said you had a case for me, I had thought you had an ambiguity worthy of my talents, not spray paint on some wall, stating some manner of dirty words or crude innuendo. I'm a mystery-solver, not some bumbling P.I. If that's what you want, then I suggest you call Dick Tracy." I snickered. "Tracy. Anyway this is not what I specialize in and I don't appreciate being called out of my study for nonsense like this."

"I assure you Mr. Condo, that while this is only vandalism, it has several elements pertaining to you expertise. It's not the usual case of trivial damage. If you could just take a _quick_ look…pretty pretty please?" I waved a hand.

"Fine, fine, stop your begging man, and get in the car. But I warn you, this had better be damn good, else you will pay for my floor. Come Lotson, seems we've been suckered into this." So, we got in the car, and the inspector drove us to the city museum, where there were several police cars, as well as numerous overly-fed cops, struggling to get across the parking lot.

"My word inspector, don't any of your men know of a little thing called the Stairmaster? They are all pudgy piles of goo! They're so fat, that when they walk, they cause vibrations on the Richter scale."

"Ha ha," my partner laughed, "A good one Condo, very funny indeed!"

"Thank you Lotson, it _was_ rather good, wasn't it?"

"But Mr. Condo," the inspector argued, "surely you know that the police force must be filled with the correct quantity of obese men, so as to fail in catching a criminal on foot."

"Yes, I know the typical routine. I _have_ done this before, you know? Now then, the museum eh? Hmm, perhaps you are right, and this _will _escalate into something more than petty defacement. Some priceless work of art smeared with paint? A sculpture's private parts having been removed? A sculpture's private parts having been enlarged?"

"No, not quite like that. Someone scribbled something on the janitor's door." My face grew red, but surprisingly enough, my usually mild-mannered partner beat me to the outrage.

"Now look here, you drivel-faced dinglywart! Padlock Condo is an expert at solving dastardly murders, and impossible mysteries all before tea, and you insult him…_us_ by recruiting his help for something like this? _You_ sir…are a magpie!"

"Hear hear," I cried, patting my counterpart on the shoulder. "Well done Lotson, very eloquently put." The inspector was getting red in the face, all the fat cops nearby snickering at him.

"Magpie," one of them chuckled.

"Err…ahem, well yes I understand. But what is scribbled, and what was left at the scene…I think you will see what I'm talking about." Lotson and I traded looks.

"You had better hope so," I warned, "Lest…lest…lest I kick you in the fanny! Now, hurry up!" We headed inside, passing several hallways and galleries, full of mediocre paintings and sinister wax dummies. The "crime scene", so called anyways, was on the second floor. The area had been taped off, and several hefty officers were loitering around on plastic folding chairs, taking a doughnut break.

"Here we are Mr. Condo," the inspector gestured, "this is where we found…_Aww right_, doughnuts! Let me at 'em!" With an almost terrifyingly lack of restraint, the inspector lunged for the box, grabbing up a jelly doughnut, and taking a bite. "Mmm, that's good eating."

"Excuse me, you fat pigs," I called, waving my arms, "This is a crime scene, not a lounge! Get off your fat asses this instant, and get to work! Dear God, this is just shameful! And inspector, perhaps you could explain to me what we are doing here? My patience is growing very…_sayyyy_…is that a double chocolate sprinkled glaze?" The oafs in uniforms, smears of sugar and cream filling running down their chins, nodded, grunting and snorting. "Oh well, I suppose _one_ wouldn't hurt…And look here Lotson; there is a Bearclaw for you! You like Bearclaws right?"

"Yes indeed Condo, I simply _adore_ them!" Moments of wolfing passed before we were ready to proceed. "Ahem, yes now…inspector, perhaps you should show us why we are here…"

"Of course, over here Condo. We don't really know what to make of it." Inside the taped off area, was a baby blue door, the big word Janitor printed on it. Underneath that though, was the mysterious vandalism in question. In a messy hand, some had scrawled the message, _"Things are not safe! We will walk again!" _

"Hmm," I mused, "A most peculiar message indeed. Lotson, what do you make of it? Any thoughts?" My partner scrutinized the door.

"From what I can see, old friend, is that someone is either quite mad, or this seemingly simple phrase holds an untold amount of unseen danger. What of you?" I looked closer as well.

"I was merely going to say that this so-called message was written in Magic Marker. This was done either by a bored child, or an adult that acts like a five year old."

"Find something Condo," the inspector called, stepping over, leaning down with us. "Any leads?" I stood up straight, hostility in my glare.

"Leads? Are you a raging madman? This is something you call us out for? I'm in a good frame of mind to knock your block off! This is ridiculous, there being no evidence of this being any more than someone who had nothing better to do!" The inspector hung his head, touching the tips of his index fingers together, looking sheepish.

"But…we got a call at the station that this was here. Surely it means something?"

"Mayhaps, but then why aren't you following the source of the call? This scribble might mean something, but only with _other_ evidence. Alone, it is very near pointless. Now, how about you stop this silliness, and get back to the things that really matter. And wipe that blasted writing off! Lotson, this _is_ the janitor's closet; be a sport and fetch us some stain remover." My partner nodded, and opened the janitor door, stepping inside.

"So," the inspector asked me slowly, "We should…do what…now? Any ideas?" I was in the midst of wondering exactly how a man like that could be in charge of people's safety, when Lotson returned with some Zap! "Here you are Condo. Oh, and by the way…there's a dead guy in that closet."

"Yes yes Lotson, dead guy, thank you. Now then, inspector, do you have a reason, _any_ reason whatsoever as to why this scrawling of senseless words and a lone phone call to your office could somehow be related? Did you never think that it was some moron just messing with you? That it was some bratty kid, doing this just so dinks like you would come running out here, with your heads up your asses!"

"Well…not really no. It's just…we were all a little bored over at the precinct, and this was our only case all day, so we thought we could make it…well, a bit more extravagant. We have you to thank for the lack of crime. No one dares commit an offense with the great Padlock Condo in town."

"I thank you for that inspector, but rest assured I shall address this issue in full later. Now, please excuse me whilst I busy myself by examining the dead guy Lotson found in the janitor's closet." At this, the inspector jumped.

"Dead guy in the closet? Where? When?" He was jittering about at this sudden and new information; too much sugar I suspected.

"Right behind us Mr. Spaz. Are you telling me that you weren't aware of that?" His expression was all the answer I needed. "You stupid imbecile," I roared, rising up, towering over him, "You mean that you've been gathering evidence here for over two hours, and you hadn't even bothered to open the door that the crime was printed on once? Really now, what _is_ wrong with you?"

Quick as a flash, the inspector summoned all the lounging oafs on the surrounding premises, and at once the situation became a _real_ crime scene, not the half-baked one from before. "Seems there is a reason for us to be here now, my dear Lotson. Let's see what we can dig up around this place."

For there was much to dig up indeed. The body in question was that of a small man, perhaps classifying as midget sized, wearing the typical janitor overalls. His hair was white, as was his face, mostly. Around his neck there was a thin wire, digging deeply into his throat. "Hmm, this grows all the more perplexing. See here, someone strangled this poor fellow, and stuffed him in here. Now why would they do that do you think?"

"I'm sure I don't know Condo. But someone didn't do much of a job of hiding the corpse. Perhaps it is a message of some sort?"

"It could be at that Lotson, but we won't know until all the evidence has been examined. Bring me the evidence!"

"Um, Mr.…Condo," one of the lesser cops addressed me; "We haven't got any evidence yet. We only just found the body."

"We? Who's we? Lotson here discovered it, you glory hog! Well, you'd best hurry and scrounge something up, so that this mystery might be solved, else I'll eat your…badge or some such thing! Off with you now!" And off he went, scurrying away from my overwhelming and awe-inspiring presence. In the meanwhile, Lotson and I milled around the crime scene, putting forth our own creative ideas. Eventually, the inspector walked our way, as we were crouching on the floor.

"We have some…uh…evidence Mr. Condo. Mr. Condo? Dr. Lotson?" We were so very absorbed in what we were doing that we hardly heard him.

"Hah ha Lotson! Your level five barbarian is no match for my mighty level seven wizards! Have at thee!" My partner laughed in return.

"I think not, my good chap, for I have the Sword of Power, that shall shield me from you evil magic! En guard!" And the two of us rolled our respective dice to see who would emerge the victor.

"Ack Lotson, my magic has failed, and you seemed to have removed my head! Well played, old friend, well played indeed. Ah, inspector, do you have something for us, or shall we continue our campaign?"

"Uh…yes…I…we have found this note inside the closet, and it seems to be similar to the writing on the door."

"Excellent, let me take a gander." I put aside my D&D dice, and pulled my magnifying glass to the ready, studying the document. The words were quite peculiar to say the least. _"The dead shall rise, and take back what was stolen."_

"My word Lotson, this seems to be growing all the more stranger. Threats of the dead rising and reclaiming stolen property? Sounds to me like this evening will take a turn for the bizarre."

"It does at that Condo. Whatever does it mean?" I scratched my chin, wondering deeply.

"I cannot say, but I have a hunch. My guess is that this poor fellow," I gestured to the mini janitor who was being wheeled out, "Caught the perpetrator in the act of penning these words, and silenced him. Somehow I get the intuition that whatever is going to happen, shall happen right here. And probably fairly soon at that. So, you'd best cancel you ballet class for this evening, we may be here for a while. I'll speak to the inspector, and try and get an ID on the victim." With that, Lotson went to the nearest payphone to call his teacher, whilst I found the inspector trying to look important and order his men about.

"Mr. Condo, have you got something? Could you make sense of that note?"

"I may have inspector. But tell me, do you know who the little fellow is?"

"Yes, we have his nametag and documents here," he fumbled about, pulling up several papers with scribbled writing. "Carter Nockle, the night cleaner at the museum. Although he doesn't exactly look the same in the picture…Why he was here this early though, I'm not too sure, but it may be a clue."

"Excuse me, but _I'm_ the detective here, thank you. Now then, tell me inspector, does the "dead rising" part hold any meaning for you? We are in a museum after all. Are there any…well…dead guys knocking around the halls?"

"Well, I don't really know, but I'm certain we can find out. I'll be right back." As he left, Lotson returned to my side.

"Everything is taken care of Condo. Now, where do we stand exactly?"

"That's a very good question Lotson. I've just asked the inspector to fill me in if there are any sorts of dead men around this museum, apart from the one you discovered." Quickly the inspector returned.

"We got something Condo. Apparently there is an exhibit here that features dead people. Mummies and frozen cavemen, and the like."

"Aha, just as I suspected. Very good. Inspector, you remain here at the crime scene, and gather more crucial evidence. Lotson and I shall take a look."

"Um…Mr. Condo? Are you sure that's wise? If there is any danger, it might be better to have some of my officers escorting you, lest the situation turns ugly." I however, was not too receptive to this idea.

"Nonsense, you will do no such thing! I will not have fat slobs lumbering around, mucking up my investigation! If you want this murder solved, albeit a most peculiar one, then you will let Lotson and I get on with our respective jobs unhindered. Thank you." My stern and somewhat hostile expression stemmed any further objections from the inspector, who meekly slinked away, back to his herd of overstuffed cows. "I swear to you Lotson, it is getting harder and harder to be a good detective these days, what with the stupidity one must put up with."

"I know how you mean Condo. So, shall we go?" Thus…we went. The supposed place in question that was in question that we were currently making our way to where we would suppose things, was located back downstairs on the opposite side of the museum. "Does this place not seem most eerie in the dark Condo? I feel as if we are being watched."

"Indeed it does Lotson. However, unless I am mistaken and your nerves are overly exerted, I do believe that we _are_ being watched. Or more precisely…_FOLLOWED!"_

Suddenly, with this declaration still ringing in the air, I whirled about, pulling from my jacket…my rock. And with this, I hurled it with much might into the darkness. I heard a crash, as a priceless vase was shattered into nothingness. Then…silence. There was no further sound. "Huh," said I, perplexed, "I was almost positive that we were being followed. Oh well, no harm done. Come then Lotson, we have much to do."

We went on, arriving at the exhibit that the inspector spoke of. On the display, it pronounced in pretty curvy letters, "Famous Dead Guys." A rather bizarre, but surprisingly to-the-point title. Inside there were several wax dummies of now deceased people from history that had some great significance on mankind or something. Furthermore, there were numerous glass cases with dead bodies, laid out in a somewhat gruesome fashion, pieces here and there. What made this particularly disturbing was the fact that this was a children's exhibit. I knew this for scattered throughout the hall were literally dozens of posters depicting children walking hand in hand with a decaying mummy, saying that teaching children about Death early in life was beneficial, so bring them around dead corpses.

"A rather twisted message children are being sent these days, eh Lotson?"

"I agree Condo. It's frightful. There are no signs about telling children to wash their hands after touching the corpses. Simply shameful."

"Uh…well, yes I suppose but that wasn't…Oh nevermind. Anyway, this seems to be the place. I wonder…does anything think look out of place to you Lotson? Something just doesn't feel right."

"I know exactly what you mean old friend, there is indeed something amiss. We had best investigate further."

"Capital idea. I'll take a look over in the Maimed Corpses section, whilst you examine over by the Autopsied Bodies exhibit."

"Jolly good. I'll holler if I spot anything."

"Good. Oh, and Lotson…"

"Yes Condo?"

"I say this now as a precautionary measure. My detective senses are tingling, and that can only mean something is indeed about to go down. So, be prepared for some mind-blowing weirdness."

"I certainly will." Thus, we split apart, scouring across the room. All was quiet, as I meandered past several glass displays. Inside were famous men who had died in gruesome fashion. The third Pharoe of Egypt, Akru-Bon-Bon wrapped in his goofy bandages after being brained by a rock, the ninth Emperor of China, Quinta Chang, who had been disemboweled and beheaded, Jesus Christ, hanging from his cross-thingy after all the unnecessary torture, and Attila the Hun, brutally hacked to pieces. At the last one, I scowled and gave my head a shake.

"Honestly," said I aloud, "Can there please just be one exhibit, just _one_ exhibit, where Attila the Hun isn't mentioned? For god's sake, the man is _everywhere_, his name itself is a cliché of barbarism! You might as well as put him on the same level as that guy," gesturing to Jesus. Before I went on, I pulled out my black fat-tipped marker, and made a bunch of squiggly lines across his ugly scowling mug, happy faces and kitty cats. "There, that ought to cheer him up a bit."

It was as I was making this remark when I noticed a shuffling sound. And it wasn't coming from a rousing game of shuffleboard either. No, this sound was coming from behind me. I whirled, and scanned the room. There was Attila the Hun, Jesus, Chang, and…To my somewhat unalarmed eyes, the third Pharoe of Egypt, Akru-Bon-Bon had risen from his display, and began to shamble towards me.

"My word," said a voice right behind me, "A walking mummy!" At this sudden voice, I let out a yell, and whirled again, fists raised, expecting Attila the Hun to make his entrance and take vengeance upon me. Instead, I found Lotson standing right behind me.

"What in the name of…! Lotson, don't do that, my cat-like reflexes were about to maim you horribly! Didn't I ask you to check on the other side of the room?"

"Indeed you did Condo, but I grew so very lonely over there, and what's more, I didn't find anything. So I thought…"

"Lotson," I explained gently, laying a hand on his arm, "Perhaps in the near future, I should reexplain the concepts of detective work to you in full. Ah, such novice actions are a trip down nostalgia lane. Why, I remember one time, when I was first starting out, I took a case similar to this. But it was far harder in those days…I was still a fresh amateur, never having done work before. I knew it was a hard job, but…" I went on and on, explaining things in great detail, all the while Lotson listened, and the mummy slowly advanced. Finally, I began winding up.

"And then the head asked me, "Why is you are so good?" Well Lotson, I told that head that I was a born mystery solver, and that it was my destiny to win the championship of slug racing. That's what I said. I actually didn't win, but the point remains valid. How about that hmm? Pretty good story eh?"

"Oh yes Condo, very intriguing! But perhaps we should…ah, turn our attention to more pressing matters?"

"Right you are Lotson, we still have this fellow to deal with!" We both turned our attention back to our moving menace, who had covered a surprisingly small amount of ground in the seven and a half minutes it took me to tell the whole tale.

"Now there's something you don't see every day," said I, my hands in my pockets, watching the shaky approach of the deceased Pharoe, "A walking dead guy. What are the odds?" Suddenly, an ancient spear, the one it had been holding was launched at us, missing my head by only an inch or two. I glanced at it, still quivering, its tip embedded into the eye of Attila the Hun. "Bloody hell." After that, the mummy started to wave its hands wildly, and began to wail and moan.

"All hail the mighty Pharoe, kneel before Akru-Bon-Bon! Kneel petty ones, kneel!"

"You know," I answered, rather nonchalantly, "I find it incredibly amazing that a Pharoe whose been dead for over four thousand years, and who lived in ancient Egypt his whole life, would be so well versed in English only moments after his resurrection. Fancy that huh?"

"Oh," the mummy grunted, scratching his head, fumbling for words, "Ah…um…well, I'm…well, I'm just smart that way. I guess."

"I suppose you must be. For there is almost _no_ chance in the world that you are just some bumbling fool who had merely decided to wrap himself up in bandages, and pretend to be a mummy, all for the sake of scaring innocent museum patrons away from their valuable learning. Right? For that is obviously the only conceivable reason as to why you would do such a thing! Of course, there might be a _slight_ chance that you _really_ are a mummy…Lotson, what say you on this? What are the odds?"  
"Well," my partner answered, scribbling figures down on his pad of paper, "As you so smashingly put it good chum, the odds are not good. But I'd have to say there is a one in forty-seven trillion chance that he could in fact be a _real_ mummy. Give or take one or two."

"I see. Well then, there is that slim slim possibility that he is a walking corpse. What do you thing old friend? Is he decomposed enough to be called a mummy?"  
"I dare say not Condo. Why, he doesn't even smell that awful, and his face is almost totally visible. He must be a man."

"A wise assessment. Very well, mysterious walking dead guy, be you man or animated mass of decaying flesh, I, Mr. Padlock Condo, will not let you terrify anyone any longer. You'll have to get though the two of us first! Have at you!"

"With pleasure!" And he started forward.

"Get back Lotson, _I'll_ handle this lout!" Whereupon, I pulled from my jacket my Colt Commando XM177 with laser sight, slapped the magazine into the slot, cocked the lever, and switched on the laser target. The walking mummy froze, staring at me. "Holy shit!" he cried, turned and ran like striped ape.

"Eat this, moving abomination or crazy guy in smelly bandages!" So declaring, I depressed the trigger, and began to wildly wave the mussel of my gun every which way, blasting everything around me. In the hailstorm of bullets, chucks of wall exploded, glass shattered, paintings and posters were turned into paintings and posters that had holes all over them, and wax dummies and real bodies were now piles of indiscernible lumps. By the time my gun began to click, signaling its emptiness, the air was full of smoke, heavy with the smell of gunpowder, and the only sounds were that of the last bits of debris hitting the floor.

"Absolutely smashing Condo, terrific, really a bang up job!"

"Indeed my good Lotson. Aha," I called out triumphantly, "Take that! I'll bet your regretting your decision now, hmm? Don't mess with the guy with the big gun!" The mummy came out from behind a bullet-ridden wall, unharmed. "Yeah but…you didn't hit me…Jeez…you suck."  
"Well, the gun's new, and I haven't gotten the feel of it yet."

"Uh huh…oh, right. YAHHHHHH!" With a scream, arms raised again, the mummy charged towards us, with some intention, probably one filled with hostility.

"Good gravy!" I shouted, "Hurry Lotson, we must begin the chase scene!"

"Right behind you Condo!" The two of us bolted out of the room, and down the dim hallway, our pursuer right on our heels. We must have gone around in circles numerous times before I realized that we were getting nowhere.

"Lotson," I spoke to my partner whilst running, "We must stop this madman now, lest he catch us! I have a plan, but I'm going to need your help. Here, take these…" And I handed to him my bag of marbles. "You know what to do with those right?"

"I do indeed Condo, leave it to me!" With this, Lotson came to a halt, turned about, and hurled the sack of marbles right at the incoming mummy's head. There was a thunk, as the mummy halted.

"Ow," he whined, rubbing his cheek. "That kinda hurt!"

"Uh…Lotson, that's not what I…oh well…" Without wasting time, I too pulled out my weapon, my can of WD-40. "Take this," I cried out, and dashed up, pressing on the little spraying thingy, squirting a steam of the oily amber liquid right into the mummy's face.

"Eww," he shuddered, "This stuff smells gross." As he was wiping it from his eyes, I walloped him on the side of the head with the can itself, effectively dropping him. "Well done my friend," Lotson shouted, pumping his fists into the air, "Another successful capture!"

"Indeed it is…Well, what are you waiting for Lotson? Pin him!"

"Oh…right." And Lotson preformed a bellyflop right on top of the prone mummy with a ninja yell, causing the mummy to groan. At that exact moment, the police came across us, with heavy guns and vicious tracking dogs, things that would have been more useful about five minutes ago.

"By golly Condo," the inspector congratulated, having a subordinate slap some cuffs on the would-be ghost, "You got him! I am soooo impressed! Who would have ever thought that a mummy would rise up and cause trouble? In this day and age too..."

"Aha, you only think he is a mummy! When in fact…he is a man! Voila!" So saying, I pulled the few bandages away, revealing an average looking fellow.

"Gasp!" everyone present gasped. "He _is_ a man! Why Condo, however did you figure it out?"

"It was elementary inspector…whatever that means. There were several crucial elements to my discovery, none of which I feel like talking about right now." Instead I turned to the man glaring up at me from the floor.

'Your reign of terror is over before it has really even begun! You'll not haunt these halls any longer, and your attempts to bring down public education and intelligence ends. It was a clever plan, oh yes, but not quite clever enough! In your face!"

"Well actually…I was gonna…you know, steal stuff."

"Ah…Well then, that is wrong too! And now that plot has been exposed and halted! And let's not forget the innocent man you murdered! Such a dastardly thing cannot be so easily overlooked."

"Here's the thing though…I didn't kill that guy…" The inspector bent down, eyeing the culprit with a squinty eye. "Really…and just why would you think that?"

"What…are you kidding me? Didn't you see him? Hello?" This sparked my curiosity, and I pointed to a nearby officer uniform with a fat guy stuffed into it.

"You, bring that body down here…I want another look at it." He saluted and went waddling off. It was sometime before the body was wheeled down. We learned later that the fat cop had died from a heart attack going up the stairs. Once the gurney arrived, I pulled back the sheet, examining the dead guy. "My word," I shouted, "_Now_ I see it! However could I have missed it before? Of course!"

"What is it Condo," the inspector leaned forward, eager to hear. I turned to the criminal. "So, that is how it is. A clever move indeed. It took me a minute."

"What did?"

"It was an impressive tactic, to throw me off the trail, and it almost worked. However, I am Padlock Condo, the greatest mystery solver in the world, so not much gets by my magnificent eyes!"

"What does?"

"I mean, seriously, have any of you taken a good look at my eyes? They are awesome, the color is so unique, sort of a greenish blue, with a hint of gray. It's fantastic. I've always thought…"

"Condo, please, I can't bear the suspense! What did you uncover?"

"Only…this!" And I pulled the sheet off with a flourish. Beneath was the minute dead guy.

"I don't get it," the inspector scratched his head. "What?"

"Simple. This tiny man here is not Carter Nockle, the night janitor. This man," I pointed to the false walking mummy, "Is Carter Nockle."

"Oh," the inspector examined the files again. "I guess that _does_ makes sense. I was wondering why the picture didn't match…But then, who is this diminutive man?"  
"Haven't you guessed yet," I laughed. "You are looking at none other than the third Pharoe of Egypt, a one Mr. Akru-Bon-Bon!" Everyone turned down to examine the body. It was true, for upon closer inspection, the corpse was shriveled up, missing eyes, hair, and most noticeable features. Funny how we missed all that before…

"_This_ is the Pharoe," the inspector cried out.

"Correct!"

"Astounding," my partner exclaimed with no small amount of enthusiastic force, "What a marvelous discovery for historians! Ancient Pharoes were buried in ceremonial vestments that are almost identical to our present day janitor uniforms! Simply incredible!"

"Err, yes Lotson, funny how that is…Anyways, as for you Mr. Nockle, you have a lot of guts for disturbing the good Pharoe. You know that most of those guys have ancient curses around them right?"

"You're kidding me! You, the one who saw past my cheap disguise, telling me that there were no such things as walking mummies, are now warning me about curses? You're an idiot!"

"Am I? Tell me then, am I the grown man running around in a bad Halloween costume trying to scare people like some lame villain from Scooby-Doo? I think not. Officers, take this fruitcake away!" As he was being dragged out, another man, a wiry skinny old fellow approached us, with the cliché spectacles sliding down his nose. He had the smell of a Frenchman.

"Ah, mousier Condo, I am so thrilled that you have caught zee culprit and have saved my museum!"

"Oh yes, that's right," the inspector slapped his forehead, "This is the museum curator, and he has been most anxious to have this matter cleared up."

"Wee wee, for tonight is a big night for us! We are just opening our newest exhibit, zee one where zat villain was hiding. Famous Dead Guy's. Tonight will be our grand opening, and our greatest triumph! We cannot thank you enough mousier Condo!" I laughed, my eyes going back and forth, leisurely rubbing the back of my head.

"Yes…hah ha…it was…nothing, yes that's it. Well, love to stay and chat but I must be going away from here right now. Lotson…come." And after a quick nod, Lotson and I beat a hasty retreat towards the door.

"Condo, whatever is the matter? Don't you wish to bask in the limelight a bit longer?"

"No no, I'm finished basking. I just feel this compelling need to get home as quickly as I can, and call my lawyer. Hurry now…"

"_NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" _came the mournful wail, echoing up the halls, and resonating all around us, like some real tormented ghost. I was tempted to not have heard anything, but I got another idea.

"Don't worry about the damages," I called back, "This one is on the police department! Just send them a bill…Lotson, time to run."

"Right with you old chap." And we both dashed for the door, bursting outside. Just to be on the safe side, I pulled a bench in front of the door, to hold off pursuers.

"Whew," Lotson heaved after the run, "That was a close one. Well, things turned out in the end, didn't they Condo?"

"Quite so Lotson, the museum was saved, despite being roughed around the edges a bit, a criminal is in jail, and best of all, we still have that delicious pie waiting for us in the fridge back home."

"My goodness Condo, I had nearly forgotten the pie! Come on, we must get back at once!" With this, my mild mannered partner seized my wrist, which made a soft beeping sound, hailed a cab, and all but stuffed me inside.

"You know Lotson," said I, reclining in my seat, having to raise my voice quite loudly to talk over this increasingly loud humming sound overhead, "Once again right has conquered all, and we've made the world a better place. But still, I can't help but thinking that something isn't quite right…"

"Funny you should say that Condo," my partner answered rubbing his jaw, his face briefly illuminated by the gargantuan cloud of fire behind us, "Because I feel the same way. Weird, maybe we're just tired…Perhaps we should take a nap?"  
"An excellent suggestion old friend…We'll eat some pie, have a little booze, and then nap. A fine idea indeed!"

"That's what I call I good plan," Lotson having to talk over the wailing sirens of dozens of rescue vehicles that went tearing past us. "Tell me Condo, however do you always come up with such smashing ideas?"

"Well, my dear Lotson, that is just the mark of a great detective."


End file.
